40 ounce lady juice etc

took a mile to fall through the night and the sky was star-wrought, heralding the morning soon after, afar but approaching as quick as soldiers heal up the heart with vitamins as i felt my left arm go numb painful way was to go about my business and slithering through necessity is whatever i feel a whole other way now, she winked at me and i bless it

in remembering i forgot a crash of rhinos and felt thru the pain a sense of purpose all the things i could have done all the things i would for you

I haven’t the tired time to trace it but the exact space taken by clouds implying rain one day - love love lost love again half-read Walden, I refused. I cleaned the campsite like the devil had made itself out there, not quite. At the triumph of the boy there was some heckling blotted out. I had walked the forests in circles alone hearing anger-filled angels, and now I think they can sit quietly as the sculpture has made itself back from war

they told me i can forget. forgotten. ive been mentioning to same so often the crack of whatever weather has lent me to death, you as life applicable born above and below is something i could not clasp in tears now so i wonder how youd be fed, how the alcohol splits the tree into a wronged place, heals through blood no joy in toying the unmet things. still for you, only you in time and as if there hasnt been a toying thing called true in so many years, i wish i was there with you again, as i golden your silence, and kill fear as yours killed mine. not enough for now, but forever life as the beauty bound take this as you will, so many phonecalls and then gone you must be so narrow in lack of response, only one xcited is for me to you, for health of love. the queen and king, which either way. i would hold you down in comfy.

theres art wares in the basement where the bulletproof tea sat and i cleansed the rice bowls left by worried mother of a baby born to spirits, a thousand times over. and macaroons and figs with all that falls in autumn with the still open doors of beds on floors, and offering to the very big twilight windows of the children's ward psychiatric ward in the big old brick building torn down for condos, and they must give and take as seasons and i hope you learn for love that life is that, despite what's torn open in between

has it been the words. that return always. as certain as soldiers of war as you’d believe me. all the children always made loved by God and if you believe this i’ll tell you that as the spikes entered where all nerves meet in the hand of the Son of God he cried for an answer from his Father, God. but he was screaming and begging for his dad to just - say anything nice. Who heard the Son of God screaming? the disciples gone, terrified of what had become of God on earth, bloody and begging, while the Pharisees carried on. Yeshua cried in Aramaic to a God that does not speak Yeshua who had christened himself cried for answers for God Not a whisper, no wind,  In that pitch dark night, as he begged God did not listen. God was not anywhere near to hear the screeching that is so loosely charitably simply coined “Father, why have you forsaken me?” But if I know anything of believing yourself the Messiah, until six men in white hold your by all their strength to a gurney, and a man walks in with a syringe you know then, I knew then., I was not the final Messiah.  I was the thing that proves Jesus whimpered in his language that soon became Arabic, “Why would you do this to me? Father, why would you allow these wounds to make me shriek?” Nothing in the darkest night ever heard. The Lamb was sent to be slaughtered for his meat, to prove God is silent when you shriek for him. God is nowhere near you when you shriek for him. So for your - what you might explain I do not question much I do not expect the poem book of hieromania as anchorite to mean what I thought it might  have once meant to you/ It’s lost and won’t be found. i have written whatever on yellowed paper after paper words on yellow paper as words on the way to my art college always just short lines “I see the Yang Ming freight stacked to heaven as if they go” “The girl nervous should be the least, this from a nervous boy” some lines from my phone from a decade ago gone forever. God gone forever as the pegs drove themselves deep to the center of the nerves. Yeshua, Joshua, who gave himself the name Christ christened. my middle name, aramaic yeshua, deserved no answer from God. He had killed God. He was a crying boy who wondering if Joseph still loved him then. Joseph who was not his father. And as the boy who shares my middle name went silent in a second from the shrieking for answers| Joseph was tilling a field, unaware. I think sometimes I do, in moments where I feel torture is in how silent my questions have stayed Why are you God that died as I cried for you why do would I cry for God if I know doing so is a sure way for the pitch of the dark of the sky holds no secrets Why can’t you just fucking tell me anything